


Love Within Solitude

by moriamithril



Category: Pedro Pascal - Fandom, Prospect (2018)
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Smut, idiots to lovers, reader is stubborn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:07:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26026954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moriamithril/pseuds/moriamithril
Summary: Shiro is a healing moon and you've put the work into making certain it does. That all seems to be threatened when a harvester shows up.
Relationships: Ezra (Prospect 2018)/Reader, Ezra (Prospect 2018)/You
Comments: 19
Kudos: 105





	Love Within Solitude

You switched on the weathered radio perched on the railing of the tiny bungalow, yellowed with sun and pollen. There hadn’t been a signal in nearly seven months, so you didn’t jump when static roared from the wizened speaker, but gave it a good thump with a balled fist when the tape inside didn’t immediately start playing. Rock music began to crackle out, and you huffed out in impatient relief as you leaned back in the rickety wooden chair, putting your bare feet up beside the little player and bringing your mug to your lips..

The tea had already gone cold, and you didn’t regret letting it sit too long; it was one of the muggiest days you’d endured since settling on Shiro, and the coolness was welcome. You wondered how best to spend your time on a rainy morning; as the solitary member of an activist community, Your goals and itinerary for the day were for you and yours alone to determine.

Your generation had produced ecological activists in decent numbers; when someone is raised on mining settlements, or in the sandpits of a moon already barren and nearly-sterile after only twenty years of human settlement, it was hard not to become radicalized.

When food and water could be genetically modified, becoming infinite resources under simulated suns and brewed in vats of stainless steel, synthetic mists making rain, free of acid within the walls of universities and laboratories, it became easy to take advantage of everything else. Anthropocentrism was a curse on the human condition, and no one seemed to be learning; researchers and their hired labor hopped from moon to moon, planet to planet, turning lush lands into nothing but arid vessels, no matter the cost.

Shiro had been heavily logged and turned over decades ago and forgotten, and you and your friends chose to stock up on Crescendol and head straight for the abandoned moon, likely off the harvesting radar for years to come to begin anew. Communal living amongst six very passionate individuals proved more challenging then they anticipated; by the time they finished building their collective home and tried to simply settle, tensions rose, opinions differed, and everyone seemed to demand rides back to Kamrea or even Drion-009 one by one.

They all proved to be real normies. It was down to you and Jax, the latter beginning to complain of your hard-headed, often domineering personality. Before long, he requested you fire up the ship; he said he’d be back, that he just needed to ‘reevaluate’. You cried when you dropped him off at a terminal on Crescendol, left with nothing besides a topped-off fuel tank in the once-shared little ship and an apologetic grimace.

That had been three months ago, and you were beginning to revel in the solitude. You didn’t need help maintaining the bungalow anymore, now with fewer bodies to clean up after. You definitely didn’t need help with the gardens, or the chores, or with the composting system, which had been a crucial undertaking - replacing the weak organic layer in the healing soils of Shiro.

Shiro had been a lush jungle of sorts, humid and tepid, with a vast network woven in the roots of the massive Salix trees. Humans found out very quickly the thread-like fungi had compounds capable of not only curing most cancers, but regenerating healthy cells. It didn’t take thirty years before it was excavated. Now, regeneration of pioneer species stood tall and lithe, not nearly as burly and imposing as they had been years ago, but it felt wild all the same. As the only known human on-planet, it felt especially so for you.

You had been the only one brave enough to stay, to nurture the healing ground, no matter how dull and hot the days could sometimes be. You refused to cave and return to the known alternatives: technical training, usually limited to the indoors, or harvesting, which you long ago vowed you would never do. Never would you contribute to that egocentric condition, even if it came down to being the only one left.

You were alone, and you had begun to like it that way.

There was work to do; turning the compost, moving it, and spreading it. Foraging and preserving, cleaning the air filters on the ship. But today, there was a threat of rain, promising to burst from the greying clouds looming above the weeping trees. Inhaling deeply, you overlooked the little kingdom of sorts, and performed your daily ritual of pledging to the little moon that she would not abandon her.

You shut your eyes and imagined what you must look like, feet languidly draped up, hands idle. An act you would have quickly chided your old housemates for. Reaching forward for the volume knob, you turned up the music, drowning out the thought as you bopped your head to the drums, ignoring the too-relevant words.

Must’ve been a relief gettin’ rid of me, must feel so much lighter now that you’ve been unbound - now I know what emptiness is, so I’ll go it alone…

~

Ezra’s pod landed with an unsteady thud, slightly tilted. His neck craned behind him, revealing his sloped cot, his shelving units bare of their books and trinkets. Pursing his lips, he frowned to himself; he was a decent pilot of sorts, and every decent pilot knew the most skill lied in take-off and landing. This was a sloppy job; it would make his stay here uncomfortable, and yet it was not worth the fuel to fire up again and readjust. He sighed dramatically as he unbuckled the harness strapped to his chest before pushing himself out of the captain’s seat.

He knew enough about Shiro to know it was safe to roam without filters and suits, but even so, he held onto his oxygen gauge as the hatch door hissed open. Ezra was met with a wall of oppressive humidity the moment he emerged from the pod, and went to stand beneath the drooping leaves of the closest tree. The trees were larger than he had imagined; everyone spoke about Shiro like it was an overgrown meadow. These trees were well past the thicket stage, already casting a decent canopy.

Holding the gauge out in front of him, he waited for it to calibrate. It beeped, and Ezra squinted enough to read the black bars; they were indeed suitable enough, perhaps a little low due to the stifling heat. Shoving the instrument into a back pocket, he peered around through the immature forest. His landing may have been rough, but his coordinates were spot on; there seemed to be little diversity within the even-aged forest. Beyond thatches of shrubs and whatever shade-tolerant species that seemed to thrive in the understory, there was hardly anything but the Salix trees he knew harbored the Hyphae he’d been hired to collect. It was easy enough to create synthetics of it these days, but some wanted the real deal, and Ezra struck while the iron was hot.

Ezra wasn’t always gregarious or garrulous out of habit or desire - Kevva, no - making and maintaining friendships was a profitable art. Getting a drink, bearing gifts of rare flower petals or tiny gems, with Kamrea’s most prestigious researchers wasn’t because Ezra was altruistic. No - Ezra liked the simple process of having an excuse to frequent a nicer bar than he was used to at the trading stations on Crecsendol and handing off some petty rewards reaped on a recent mission in exchange for information. Ezra wanted to know what was currently coveted for the highest price, and Ezra liked being the first one to procure it.

Shiro was a shithole, a splotch on the map in harvester circles. And who needed it, when Hyphae could be reproduced in a lab? But Ezra’s high-brow, ivory tower friends at the universities let him in on whispers passed around between the scientific community; the synthetic stuff would only cut it for so long before the negative side effects became too risky - more and more patients were experiencing results so drastic, it led to further health problems.

What was the point of beating cancer when it left holes in your stomach, or heart problems so severe, you needed intervention to avoid attacks? Synthetics often needed additional chemical components to remain stable and effective, and they came with a toll, and Ezra knew why: whether it was sex, love, art, sleep, or drugs, no substitute for any of them would ever be as valuable as the real, organic thing.

When Ezra finally ducked low enough to surface from beneath the weeping tree, he felt something plop onto his brow, dripping down his cheek and rolling over his little silver scar. Perhaps the humidity’s race had been run; the overcast sky had begun to weep with relief, and an invariable patter sounded against the hood of the pod.

Hours later, Ezra awoke from an undeserved nap after falling asleep with a small copy of The Grapes of Wrath left open across his chest. When his eyes pried themselves open, he let the book fall without marking it, and he groaned in discomfort; naps on new planets when he had yet to spend a full cycle there left him disoriented, and he abruptly tugged on his makeshift curtain; there was still daylight, and the rain had ceased.

Checking his watch, he rifled through sheets of maps and papers with notes scribbled on unoccupied space and skimmed through it until he found statistics and data for Shiro. Total daylight hours were generous, but he would be pushing his luck if he bothered to set up a harvest this late. Leaving the papers strewn over the control panel, he unfastened the watch from his wrist and dropped onto the heap as a makeshift paperweight before turning for a linoleum cabinet and opening it, rooting for lunch or dinner.

He unwrapped a nutri-bar and ate quickly; there was nothing to savor in the congealed oats and sugars. He crumpled the wrapper in his hand and shoved it into his pocket as he cleaned his teeth with his tongue, sucking loudly as he opened the hatch of the pod. Climbing through the conservative doorway, he decided to scope out his new surroundings, choosing to head north as he took off through the trees with a swagger in his step. 

Ezra hadn’t walked more than fifteen minutes, if he had to guess, before he stilled, the minuscule hairs on the back of his neck standing alert, as he heard the very distinct hum of a fueled generator. Patting the ever-present blaster on his hip and taking a deep breath, he let curiosity lead the way as he followed the almost beguiling whir.

The sound grew nearer and the tree canopy began to thin, and to both his delight and horror, Ezra saw a small house with a very generous porch, and felt a surge of ice-cold shock surge through him when a person - a woman - materialized from behind a screen door swinging shut behind her loudly.

She saw him the moment her head popped up from its place, dutifully watching her steps around the tools haphazardly strewn across the wooden planks engulfing a small chainsaw. Ezra could smell the volatile scent of gasoline mixed with bar oil, wafts of it being carried by the light and forgiving breeze that followed the rain, and wondered where the hell this creature managed to store such a precious commodity, and how much she had.

His pondering was quickly interrupted when the woman, her hair almost gleaming fragments of light in the modest streaks of sun pouring from between a break in the clouds, produced a leaden machete from somewhere on the cluttered porch, holding it in her hand poised like she knew the tool well.

Ezra tapped the blaster on his hip again, cocking his head and shrugging with a defeated smile aimed at her, for he was not the defeated one.

“I had no intentions of wielding this,” he shouted over the persistent machine still droning from somewhere behind the house, “yet I often find myself having to roll with the punches.”

~

For a moment, you thought you had been imagining things when the dark figure appeared in your peripheral, but you reached for the machete anyways, because it was within arm’s reach; when you faced the apparition again, you gripped the smooth, wooden hilt tighter.

The strange man smirked, and it made your insides twist with disrelish, and when he cocked his head, you noticed the blonde tuft of hair before you noticed him tap two fingers against the firing blaster on his hip.

He was tall, or maybe you felt smaller in a strange man’s presence; in a bizarre attempt to soothe itself, your mind tried to imagine Jax standing beside the man, wondering who would stand closer to the treetops. This man would likely win that contest, and your entire body pricked with nerves as he spoke.

“I have no intention of wielding this, yet I often find myself having to roll with the punches.”

He had the voice of a man who embodied trouble; gruff and gravelly, he spoke slowly with an accent.

You quickly cataloged all the reasons why this strange man was standing in the woods beside your bungalow. He had no gear and no pack, so wherever he came from, it couldn’t have been far. You cursed herself silently; you’d spend the entire afternoon scrubbing your kitchen floor with headphones on. Your friend Rosamund always shook her head when she caught you working alone, obscuring such a crucial sense.

“You can’t hear anyone coming up on you like that, just listen through the radio,” she had whined once when you returned from a solitary walk in the woods still wearing the earbuds.

You had shrugged. “Everything sounds better this way,” you explained nonchalantly.

If a ship had landed nearby, you likely would have heard it if he was that close; you distracted herself by calculating how far he would have had to come from in order for you to have felt no tremor -

“Are you going to forfeit this standoff? I regret that, even from a distance, I possess the winning hand in this circumstance,” the man shouted again, and you made a decision in that moment.

Your jean shorts rode uncomfortably into the apex of your thighs, swollen in the heat, as you stormed off the porch, not taking your eyes off of the man as you tore across the leaf-strewn grass towards the other side of the house.

Holding the blade out and pointing towards him, you leaned one half of your body towards the generator in order to keep the man in sight, and switched it off; it made a growling noise and it sputtered, leaving screaming silence in its wake.

With all of the false confidence in the galaxy, you dragged your voice from the depths of your diaphragm. “Who,” you commanded loudly, “the fuck are you?”

The man didn’t hesitate, only smiled to reveal surprisingly-white teeth.

“I am Ezra,” he said, laying the hand not still gripping his blaster over his chest and taking a small bow.

Your heart rate began to accelerate as the man’s bearing relaxed, and not because of his obvious comfort.

You were again deducing the purpose of him being on Shiro, and the clues he gave you began to add up; his boots were caked with dirt, his hands appeared to be clean but even from these paces away you noted the black line beneath his nails, and his utility belt did not have more weapons, but an oxygen gauge and an unused filter, with several little silver tools lining around his waist.

Ezra was a harvester.

“Where’s your party? How many of you are there?” you demanded sharply, stabbing the air in front of you with your weapon, still streaked with green evidence of cutting back overgrown weeds.

Ezra chuckled, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “I hate to disappoint, but you have stumbled across a solitudinarian in your midst,” he said. “I am alone -”

“I know what you meant,” you interrupted angrily, “and I think you’re full of shit.”

Ezra didn’t laugh again, but his smile did not dissipate; he parted his lips with his tongue as he seemed to be trying to figure out an approach.

“I would invite you to investigate that claim for yourself, but something tells me that would not be an appreciated summons.”

Your arm was growing tired, and you felt it tremble slightly as you continued to hold it towards him.

“Why are you here?”

“Well, I was going for a walk; I took an unsolicited nap, and I often find that -”

“Why the fuck are you on Shiro?” you cut, your nose wrinkling in frustration.

“Hyphae, of course,” he sang, and your mouth dropped slightly in outrage as you watched him take a step closer. “I’m only here to harvest.”

“I am only here to harvest,” you spat back mockingly.

Your anger remained steady but you began to pulse with rage; the work, the dedication, the sacrifices you had made to make a home here, away from the siphoning lifestyle, ready to plow through a planet for their own gain, at the cost of an entire ecosystem.

Shaking your head tightly, you let the blade swing at your side as you dropped your arm, taking a step towards him as violation swarmed your mind.

“You are the problem, do you know that? Hopping from moon to moon, taking what you want and fuck the expense.”

Ezra laughed again, this time making his eyes crease. “I’ll be here a few weeks at best, and I will make sure to stay out of your hair, and away from that very intimidating blade,” he taunted, his head ticking and indicating towards your tool. “You won’t even know I’m here.”

“Bullshit,” you said. “Do you know how much healing this moon has had to go through? And you think you can just show up here -”

“Whoa,” he bellowed, “hold on just a moment now,” Ezra said, his hand finally leaving his blaster as he laid two flatten palms out in front of himself. “Am I trespassing? I was unaware I was on private property.”

“No,” you faltered, “but -”

Frowning, Ezra nodded knowingly, and you hated him for it.

“You almost had me convinced that you were in possession of evidence more unassailable than ‘finder’s, keeper’s,’ but I am afraid that, besides the rusty butter knife you’ve got there, you are close, but no cigar to any sort of attempt to have me decamped.”

You were nearly shaking with fury.

“What makes you think you can just land her and destroy an entire species of trees? The self-entitlement -”

“Again, I must adjourn that statement,” Ezra shot back, “there will be no devastation upon my departure. I take my time, and I take care to perform my duties proficiently and flawlessly. You have my word.”

His brows were furrowed, but he seemed to be trying to both negotiate and satiate you, and your face only twisted into deeper rage with each word he spoke.

“Self-entitled and ignorant,” you sneered, turning your body towards him completely and putting a hand on your hip.

That seemed to have hit a nerve, and the man called Ezra’s nostrils flared with annoyance.

“I have been accused of being many things in my time,” he growled, “but ignorant is not one of them. You harshly misjudge and undermine me, warden.”

You scoffed at the sarcastic jab. “Don’t mock me.”

“You have demanded a name from me, and I supplied you with the truthful report; you have not bestowed me with the same courtesy, so designing a moniker that suits this tense state of affairs felt like the best option,” he explained. “Now, you listen to me; I approached this place unawares of what I would discover with no harmful motives, and I have attempted to placate you to no avail, despite the fact that I could shoot you dead on the spot if that was my ambition. Now, while I thoroughly comprehend the overwhelming sense of territory you must be grappling with, that still does not deem you empress of Shiro, no matter how well you might fit the bill, if there was an inquiry for the position. I am going to turn around and return to my respective space, I am going to considerately perform the task I came here to do, and I will make tracks before you even finish replacing the spark plugs on that contraption,” he again motioned his head towards the porch, and you swung yours to observe the disassembled chainsaw. “If you’re interested in civil discourse, I would love to hear your argument for felling trees to their stump, versus -”

“There are good and bad ways to harvest,” you said firmly.

“Is that right?” Ezra sniffed, mirroring his opponent’s body language and letting his own hands fall to his hips. “And aren’t you something,” he sneered, “a regular dogmatist, if I ever encountered one. Every planet needs a diplomat.”

“Every planet needs someone defending it.”

“And you do it thanklessly and on your own,” Ezra said with mock regret, placing a hand over his heart.

Blood drained from your face.

“What makes you think I’m alone?” you asked in too small of a voice.

Ezra huffed out in laughter again, shaking his head in resolution as his hand returned to his blaster and he began to turn towards the direction he came in.

“I know,” he said, and he began to walk away, shouting over his shoulder. “And I am correct, am I not?”

“Don’t come back!” you warned, stepping on tiptoes as you called back to him as he disappeared into the forest.

When his footsteps retreated, you charged back up the porch and stood in stunned silence for a moment. You picked up your earbuds and rolled them together in your palm before angrily tossing them back down on the small bench, kicking the tin toolbox at your feet and immediately cursing the searing pain that radiated from your toe.

You were overcome with a sudden urge to follow the man, to continue arguing until he too decided to leave the humid moon, but thought against it. He would leave eventually, and you wouldn’t have to berate him into doing so.

~

Sleep did not come easily to you, even after you dug out Rosamund’s thrower from above the kitchen cabinets. It was caked with cooking grease and cobwebs, so you set to work cleaning it under the battery-operated lamp at the table, thawed and cooked breast of the pheasant-like bird you hunted and stored in the freezer last spring sat untouched with some greens and bread on a tin plate at your elbow.

When you were satisfied with your work, you pushed open the screen door with your forearm and stood wide-legged on the porch. Aiming the weapon at a galvanized pail in the yard, you shot it; you missed your target by at least a foot, and you rolled your eyes as you lowered the thrower.

Still not a good shot, but armed nonetheless.

You had made several rearrangements as your friends had left, leaving the metal bunks that once stood erected in each room leaning against a wall in the shed out back. As you and Jax were a couple, you had a larger room and a double-sized mattress on the ground shoved against a wall to make space for his scores of milk crates, full of ship parts and steel tools.

With him and most of his things gone - for you could not be certain, but convinced that Lax left you with enough tools to continue to maintain the bungalow alone - you dragged the bed to the middle of the room. Holding the thrower in one hand and the battery-operated lamp in the other, you set them both down beside the mattress before squatting in front of the bookshelf, selecting the same copy of The Alchemist that you were unsure why you insisted placing back on the shelf at all, considering how often you reread it.

It took hours to find the will to reach for the switch and shut it off, determined to chase some semblance of sleep, and your hand rested on the plastic barrel of the thrower as you drifted into dreams, where you encountered a cocky man with an ax in his hand, words convoluted and manipulative as he attempted to lure you into his services in exchange for a vial containing something you couldn’t place.

~

Each day that dawned since Ezra had appeared in the forest, you anticipated his return, performing your chores or even enjoying your morning tea with the feeling that someone was watching you, expecting him.

On the fifth morning, another oppressively hot day, you were wrestling with the realization that you were offended the man had not returned.

Wasn’t he curious? Wouldn’t he want more supplies, or a more comfortable place to sleep? Maybe he was gone, too perturbed by your presence to stick around.

Sitting in your familiar wicker chair, you noted the stickiness of your skin and the heady scent from beneath your arms; maybe you would grab a towel and head for the river.

It was hot enough to justify a swim, and you could keep your eyes peeled for Ezra. If he was still here, you wanted to know where he was. It was only prudent to be fully aware of his location, for your own protection.

Slipping on impractical but comfortable leather sandals, you retrieved a coarse towel hanging on the clothing line and headed down the path towards the river. You were sweaty and coated in an uncomfortable film by the time you reached the high bank; you would have to climb down to the basking rock you’d often lay a towel over and read on.

Without peering over the ledge, you swung your legs over it and lowered yourself with your upper body weight, dangling your feet for the rock below when you pressed down on something squishy.

Shrieking, you were preparing for a painful descent before two sturdy arms caught you tightly around the waist, just below your chest.

Ezra grinned from behind a pair of black sunglasses, sporting a faded white t-shirt and very thin plaid boxers, a towel of his own splayed across your rock.

“What are you doing here?” you cried, scrambling from his arms and back onto your feet, balancing against the exposed soil of the cavity that this particularly deep spot of river was nestled in.

“I find myself here with an indulgent scheme in mind,” he said, and he groaned lazily as he dropped to his knees and spun over, languidly draping himself over the rock with his hands behind his head. “A pleasure to have such amicable company.”

“You should be working,” you grumbled, and you wondered why your heart was beating so fast still; you were furious he had discovered your swimming spot, but also relieved to see him at the same time.

Why? Irritation at both him and yourself flooded your veins, and you tossed your towel in a crumpled heap onto a muddier part of the bank, away from the rock.

“Too hot to work,” he shouted as your sandals sunk into the mud; you pulled your feet up dramatically, huffing as you unbuttoned your jeans.

You were not going to spoil your afternoon because of some stupid harvester. Stepping out of your shorts, you would simply pretend he wasn’t there. He seemed to be doing a good job at doing that since discovering he was not alone on Shiro.

“No use in laying in the mud,” Ezra called, pulling the sunglasses partway down his nose and peering down at you. You looked slightly dishevelled after your spill and you could feel it.

“Plenty of space here,” he purred, wiggling towards the earthen wall behind him, patting the space he created on your favorite landscape feature.

“Get bent,” you cursed, and you kept your tank top on as you dipped a toe into the water. It was tepid today.

“Dogmatic and impertinent,” Ezra sighed, stroking his chest absentmindedly as a sunbeam shone down on him.

He basked in it like any mammal would, and you felt a wave of both intrigue and disgust rise within you.

“Shiro is undoubtedly fortunate to have such a fierce and loyal steward,” he groused, and his clear comfort irritated you beyond belief. “I imagine the compensation for the task is handsome.”

“Shut up,” you grumbled, lowering yourself into the water to the waist.

“I always imagined the duties of a steward were to willingly educate and guide visitors with open arms,” he mused, and you watched as a single digit scratched at the hairs lining his abdomen as his shirt hiked above his belly button.

“Shut the fuck up,” you hissed, and you gasped in air before submerging the rest of her body into the water, sinking to the rocky surface of the riverbed.

When you emerged, you felt the fabric of your now translucent shirt clinging to your breasts, pebbling in the cool water. Narrowing your eyes, you shot your gaze towards Ezra, fully expecting him to take advantage of the view.

Something akin to embarrassment clouded your mind as you discovered his eyes set either somewhere in the sky or shut behind his glasses, not paying you any mind as his chest rose and fell softly from your rock.

Good, you thought to yourself stubbornly; you lied back into the water, floating as you orchestrated an imaginary argument with Ezra in your mind, had you caught him watching your nipples harden behind the soaked tank.

“Well, if you’re too lazy to actually get anything done today, when do you think you’ll be done? It’s almost been a week, as far as I know.”

Ezra chuckled from his perch, sitting up and removing his sunglasses. You waited for him to discover your state, but his dark eyes remained fixed on yours.

“As long as I see fit, warden,” he said. “And if you were hoping to catch me red-handed observing your rather translucent garment, what with your arms positioned at your back in such a suggestive manner, I am afraid I must leave you disappointed.”

With a smug grin, he edged back on his bent elbows, inhaling deeply beneath the hot sun that seemed to compliment his olive skin.

“You’re pathetic,” you grumbled, sinking back into the river to your chin in an attempt to hide your reddening cheeks.

“‘Pathetic’ is an interesting choice of a synonym for ‘observant,’” he noted, and you gnashed your teeth together as you watched him lift a little paper book from somewhere next to his hips.

“What’s that?” you asked tartly, hoping any hint of sincere curiosity was disguised in your tone.

“This, my diligent warden, is a book,” he sang, flicking the pages with his thumb until stopping somewhere in the middle.

“Gods, you are infantile,” you murmured. “What book is it?”

“Steinbeck,” he called out from the rock, and you frowned, rolling your eyes.

“Wow, a dude reading Steinbeck, how groundbreaking,” you muttered.

“I am well-versed in the language of sarcasm,” Ezra said in a bored voice, not watching you as you swam closer to his rock, “and I hope you accept my apology for being so predictable. If I had known I would face such harsh and elite judgement, I would have made a more refined selection.”

You couldn’t help herself. “You have more books?”

“Why,” he smiled, a small, curved scar on his cheek shining in the sunlight, “interested in some good, old fashioned, American literature? Sure it’s not too low-brow for your tastes, warden?”

“You’re an asshole, and stop calling me that.”

“Offer me an alternative, then,” Ezra said, settling back down with his hooked nose in his book.

You gave him your name loudly, as if the worn paperback blocked the sound. “I’d like to offer you a proposition.”

Rolling onto his side and lowering his book, Ezra smirked again. “If you are granting me permission to join you in those waters, I must warn you; I am not a promising swimmer, and although my feet likely touch the bottom, I will not rest easy unless I have your word that you are practiced and certified at performing mouth to mouth -“

“Not that,” you said angrily, but your lonely, curious mind displayed an image of you kissing his thick lips, the hair above them tickling your skin, despite how annoying he was proving to be - “I will trade you a book for another book.”

Ezra’s smile turned downwards, and he bopped his head in consideration. “A very intriguing proposition, I will admit. You have captured my interest.”

Rising, Ezra stretched, and you looked away quickly as his shirt pulled up again.

“Where are you going?” you questioned, still glaring at him as he bent to collect his things.

“To my pod,” he said, like it was obvious. “If you want to follow through with this lucrative trade operation, I assume you will want to observe your options before coming to any sort of verbal agreement.”

“Now?”

“Or never, warden, whatever. Let’s go, or do you need a hand? I’d assure you that I would catch you again if you lose your footing once more, but I’d hate to get this shirt wet. It’s a favorite of mine.”

“Shut up,” you mouthed as you clambered from the edge of the bank.

“What was that, warden? You’ll have to speak up.”

“I said shut up,” you snapped, wrapping a towel beneath your arms as Ezra still refused to look at you. “Let’s go. And if you try anything stupid, I’ll fucking kill you.”

“Of course you will,” Ezra said condescendingly, and he placed the sunglasses back on his face as he gracefully stepped back up the eroding hill, not offering you his hand as he led the way.

“Give me five minutes,” you told Ezra after you hastily pulled your jeans over your still-damp thighs, furiously yanking them in place before tossing on your tank. 

Feigning a look of impatience, Ezra plopped onto a nearby boulder and cracked open the dirt-caked paperback. 

“Take your time, warden,” he sighed, not looking up from the curling page. 

Not bothering to slip into your sandals, you left them beside Ezra’s things along with your towel while you jogged through the woods until you reached the edge of your property - rather, the property you lived on; Ezra’s stark reminder that you had no true, legal claim over Shiro panged through your chest like a swaying pendulum, sinking into your belly with nerves. 

Hanging from a bent nail driven into a tree was your machete, nestled safely within a leather case, and you plucked it from its place and took back off into the woods to meet with the harvester. 

Neither of you spoke upon your arrival; instead, Ezra’s face fell in disappointment when he discovered you’d taken the time to retrieve a weapon. 

“If you were in need of defense, you only had to ask,” he reprimanded, and he fished through a small, drawstring bag at his feet before digging out a blaster. 

He held it in front of him, pointing away from the both of you, to display the safety lock in place before lowering it to his ankles and scattering it towards your feet. 

“Take it,” he insisted, shoving the book into the bag and rising from his seat stiffly, stretching a bit. 

“Are you offended?” you asked shrilly, and you bent down to pick up the greasy blaster before handing it back to him. “I’m alone here,” you admitted, and your cheeks flushed with shame as he begrudgingly took it back. 

It was the first time it felt like you were acknowledging that fact to yourself, out loud, since Jax left. You’d arrived on Shiro as a crew of six, and because of several reasons but the main catalyst being your failed attempt at reigning over the operations of your collective mission, you were now alone, just like Ezra assumed upon your first meeting. 

Ezra appeared more observant with each interaction you had with him, as if he was dusting off the film you’d let collect around you to protect yourself. 

Furrowing his brow, he grimaced a little before shrugging. 

“I know you are,” he said softly, before turning back down the path. “As am I.”

Ezra seemed to talk for the entirety of the ten-minute walk to his pod, and you wondered if his roaring need to speak was due to boredom, nerves, or simply because he was lonely. 

“…and, wouldn’t you know it, the tricky bastard fell for the ruse,” he said with a smirk, ending the tale of how he outsmarted a couple of crooks on Burian, a planet notorious for its deep caves full of salt. 

“A man - or a woman, or whomever; pardon my immediate response to positioning a man at the forefront of this particular anecdote, for every day I am unlearning unfair habits - anyhow, a person reveals key parts of their nature and motive when they are at their most desperate,” he continued, lazily waving his hand in front of himself as he carried on, you walking at a steady pace behind him, “when you initiate any sort of endeavor that is imperative towards your own survival, or the survival of one that you love and cherish, you become a person you may not recognize.”

“Seems like you know it from experience,” you noted, quirking an eyebrow when he looked over his shoulder at you, his sunglasses pushed onto the top of his head. 

“Psycho-analyst and the warden of Shiro,” Ezra effused, shaking his head. “How much do you charge per session? I regret to divulge that I am rather short on coin, at present -“

“Shut up,” you muttered, and you looked away from him quickly when the smile he sent your way shot butterflies that fluttered your insides. 

A yellowing-pod appeared through the trees, and you raised your eyebrows in alarm when you noticed the tilted positioning; it was tucked into the soil roughly, several pole-size trees broken and sticking out with broken twigs and wilting leaves beneath it. 

“Rough landing?”

Ezra swung the drawstring bag off his shoulder and tossed it gently beside the crooked hatch before he turned to face you, hands on his hips. 

“Is it that evident?”

You shrugged. “I’m not the best pilot, either, or mechanic. I’ve been trying to repair the exhaust fan on my ship for almost two months,” you sighed. “Almost there, maybe.”

Ezra nodded, raising his eyebrows in commiseration. “I am no prodigy in engineering myself, but I am rather handy; I could be of some use, if I may offer a semblance of succor.”

“That would be nice, yeah,” you mumbled, smiling weakly. “Thanks.”

“My pleasure. And apologies for the slope. I was under the impression that Shiro did not possess such a dense forest canopy,” Ezra confessed, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “I anticipated a clearing of sorts.”

You gave him a told-you-so smile, folding your arms over your chest. Your shirt was damp from your wet bra beneath it, and the fabric clung to your arm. 

“See? Shiro is thriving without human intervention,” you chided. “There hasn’t been a canopy for twenty years.”

“And I tip my hat in gratitude to the warden who has preserved this sacred moon,” he mocked. “And for staving off undesirables such as myself so diligently, without the proper credit or recognition she deserves -“

“So, do you have books to trade, or not?” you interrupted. 

“Patience is a virtue, or so I’ve been told,” Ezra scoffed, and he pulled on the hatch door as it hissed open above his head. 

“So is temperance,” you added, “but that doesn’t seem to moderate how much you talk.” 

Ezra’s eyes narrowed, but his smile was wide, revealing a temporary warmth to his rough demeanor. 

“I would tell you that you’re a sharp one,” he noted, and his gaze ticked downward at the blade dangling against your legs, “but I’d hate to give you any ideas. My most gracious welcome, warden.”

He bowed at the waist, ushering you inside the slanted spacecraft. 

It was an utter mess. Ezra had books, alright, and most of them were collected in a high pile against the floor and wall, aside from two bookshelves that seemed more secure, still housing rows of texts. A table with papers strewn haphazardly and scribbled on littered the tables, even the dash, and sweaters, a blaster cleaning kit, protein bar wrappers, and boxes of tea collected on every free surface, giving the impression that Ezra’s space had been turned on its head and shaken out.

To his credit, it had been.

“I hope my unfortunate landing exculpates the disarray; I’ve hardly had time to spruce things up again.”

“No worries,” you assured him. “Kevva, that can’t be comfortable.”

His bed was tilted, so much so that you weren’t sure how he was managing to sleep there.

“I would not know,” he groused. “I’ve been sleeping beneath the stars.”

Bending over the pile of upturned books, he began to sort through them and pile them up, spine side facing the two of you for proper viewing.

“Outside?” you exclaimed. “You realize monsoon season is right around the corner.”

Ezra ceased his work to peer at you over his shoulder. 

“With hope, my work will be done before the rains arrive. Isn’t that right, warden?”

You catch your cheeks heating again, and you look away with an attempt at a weak eye roll as you clench your jaw, hoping Ezra wasn’t catching on to your bashfulness. 

“Take a look; you are entitled to any volume your heart desires, with the exception of this pile here.”

He points to a short stack of weathered leather books.

“Why not?”

“Those are journals - my journals. I like you just fine, but you have not earned access to those texts quite yet.”

You grit your teeth as you turn your back to him to scan over the generous pile he’s presented to you, hating yourself for the prickling heat surging through you again. You wondered wildly for a moment what those leather secrets contained; what sort of thoughts Ezra kept to himself. 

The sound of Ezra attempting to tidy his ship rustled behind you as you lost track of time, eventually dropping from a squatted position onto the floor, your legs crossed, sorting through each book.

You soon realized you were having difficulty choosing just one, and you didn’t want to give Ezra, as smug as he seemed, the satisfaction that you were painfully - unwillingly - impressed by his collection.

Eventually, you settled on an ancient classic: The Jungle by Upton Sinclair. Flipping through the brittle, dog-eared pages, you felt intrusive as you discovered highlights and scribbled notes in a pen that matched the messy handwriting on Ezra’s paperwork. Snapping the book shut, you suddenly felt an urgency to get back to home, to dive headfirst not just into a new story, but one lined with thoughts and opinions of Ezra’s own mind.

Ezra seemed to pick up on your energy. 

“Do not feel pressed to narrow your assemblage to a single one,” he told you.

When you spun your head around, he was seated in the captain’s chair, his foot positioned against a cabinet, bracing himself due to the awkward angle of the ship. He was wearing thick-rimmed, black glasses, his blonde streak accentuated by them. 

“Pardon the interference of selection, but you appear to be struggling with a choice.”

“No,” you said quickly, scrambling to your feet. “I got one.”

Waving the book in front of you, he nodded.

“Relevant choice,” he observed. 

“Yeah, uh, well, I’ll leave you to it. If you want to stop by sometime to borrow one of mine, I’ll leave my milk crate out on the porch, in case I’m not around,” you said, making an effort to sound friendlier than you had since making his acquaintance. 

“Allow me to show you out,” Ezra sang, mimicking your newly-discovered manners.

Pushing himself from his seat, you followed him out the slanted hatch, clutching his book to your chest before you picked up the machete you left leaning against the threshold.

“I have discovered that the small path that way,” he pointed east, and you noticed the greying sky was tinged a magenta red, “is quicker than returning to the pool.”

“Yeah, I know my way around,” you griped quietly, incapable of maintaining any semblance of politeness. 

The irritable need to be right and capable sprang forward in your chest, and you chewed on the inside of your cheek, immediately regretting the remark. 

“Thank you,” you added. 

Ezra placed his hands in the pockets of his worn pants, pleated, flecked with what looked like oil paint, and began to walk around the other side of the pod. 

“If the weather permits, I suspect you might see me to redeem my half of the bargain - “

“What the fuck is this,” you hiss darkly, cutting Ezra off.

On the other side of his pod was an unrecognizable sight: a large, dug pit - deep and wide enough to reside within, large enough to set up camp, even fit Ezra’s pod - existed just a few paces from where you stood. Several tools and tarps, vials, and plastic tubs cluttered the already-eroding cavity in the soils of Shiro.

“So this is why you’re not done yet,” you growled, glowering at him with hooded eyes as you throw the book angrily at his feet before lowering yourself to the ground and into the pit.

“Why is it so big?” you shouted, pacing the exposed earth. “Isn’t it just you? How much fucking Hyphae do you need?”

“I fear there is very little I could say to conciliate you,” Ezra replied, tensing as he picked up the book at his feet gingerly, holding both hands in front of himself as he looked down from the ground above. “But I implore that you consider the cost of business; only a few more days of harvesting, and I will be gone - “

“Like you were never here, huh?” you shout. Strutting over to one side of the pit, you dig through the dirt until you feel the thin, white fibers that were already greying from exposure and dried - dead, listless. “Don’t you get it?”

“This mycelium saves lives, warden - “

“Stop calling me that!” you barked, “and at what cost? When does it end? How many planets are we going to destroy before there are none left? Until we’re all stuck on some dark ship - “

“You grew up on the Wyman, didn’t you?”

Your heart stops, and you drop the handful of Hyphae you’d been clutching. 

The Wyman was a well-known experiment; a ship larger than twenty of Earth’s biggest mammal combined, the vessel was built and designed to house hundreds of people. There would be no need for a planet when humans had the technology and ability to recreate one themselves; the perfect atmosphere. 

But nothing ever compared to the real thing.

“I only inquire, because I have visited myself, having known many a resident with similar verdicts - “

“You never shut up, do you? Just stop talking,” you hissed again, stalking towards him as you began to clamber out of the pit. “As soon as you’re done here, you’ll fetch your price, and word will pick up. You might be the first one here in years, but you won’t be the last. And each time I have to face a new threat, whether to Shiro or me, I’ll picture your face every time.”

Ezra looked as mutinous as you felt, a sour look washing over his darkened gaze. 

“Relish on your pedestal, warden,” he said quietly, his jaw set tight, “though I’m sure it gets lonesome.”

With no words left to speak, you fetched your blade by Ezra’s feet and stormed off into the forest, the sky above you reddening with the threat of rain.

~

Out of spite, you took off towards the pool again, hardly allowing yourself to think coherently until you arrived back on the bank. You undressed with haste, this time completely, before plunging into the water.

You sank to the bottom and hovered there for a moment; just long enough to meditate on Rosamund, Jax, and all the others who had left you on Shiro. In their absence was now Ezra, who stood and worked against your entire mission - to save and protect this healing moon. 

And yet, you knew the trade of solitary harvesthood. Ezra was surely dealt a particular hand in life - just like you had been dealt yours - and he was playing with them the best he could. 

Reemerging on the surface of the dark, sapphire pool, you argued with yourself silently. Perhaps you had lost your temper - once again - on the man called Ezra, with the strange accent and generous lexicon, and the impressive bookshelf. He had even been on the Wyman. 

There was an entire party of people vehemently against the experiment - the idea was that by not learning to coexist within an environment and become part of a functioning ecosystem, we stray from human nature entirely. Some wondered the negative impacts of growing up in a synthetic world on children; you and your friends, even Jax, had been part of the pilot run. 

“It could take generations to know for certain what the impacts will be, but I can assume with confidence that there will be consequences. Children, without microbes from soil, without fresh air, without an actual sky above them, are nothing more than lab rats. I consider it to be a rather cruel endeavor, and voted against it while I was on the board of scientific research and development; that was back when I was still part of the Noxx Embassy…”

One of your first journeys away from the Wyman ship was to Kamera to see a widely-anticipated lecture at the University. A doctor and scientist panel discussed the environmental and physiological effects of life on board, and you, Jax, and your friends had sat and listened, fuming. You’d been nothing more than an experiment, a disposable prototype. Just like earth had been. Maybe Ezra had been in that auditorium, you thought to yourself. Perhaps you and the man called Ezra shared more in common than you realized, and you imagined him sleeping in the rain.

It’s his own fault his ship is tilted, and that he’s here at all, you snapped at yourself. If he doesn’t like it, he can leave. 

He was handsome, and intriguing, and you were grateful to have discovered his crater-sized work before you had invited him to dinner, or offered your porch as an escape from the elements. Everyone was dealt a hand, and how you played them mattered. 

It’s just me, you reminded yourself.

Hours later, after a long hike through the humid forest, you returned to find the copy of The Jungle tucked neatly into your towel you’d left at Ezra’s pod waiting on your steps.

Begrudgingly, you dragged the milkcrate full of books from your bedroom, down the stairs, and onto the porch, even leaving behind a few jars of preserves inside. Because even if he was a harvester, even if he was solely responsible for an entire wave of harvesters to soon arrive on Shiro for more Hyphae, a bargain was still a bargain.

~

You carried on with life as usual; you woke with the suns, you drank bitter coffee, rationed until your next trip to Crescendol, which would have to wait until the exhaust fan of your ship was fully repaired. You stretched on the porch to relieve the ache in your bones from the previous day’s labor, all before beginning again.

The garden was in full-swing, and required daily weeding, pest control, and harvesting. Most of the fresh food would need to be preserved to get you through the colder months to come, and as your baskets of food spilled over the brim as you walked them inside, you had the momentary idea of bringing some to Ezra before shaking the idea off abruptly. 

You ran into Ezra three times over the course of the following week.

The first time, you were armed with more than your rusty machete. An antique rifle was slung over your back; the strange pheasants, an invasive species brought by harvesters two decades prior, were highly active before the rainy season began, and you hunted often to ensure a food supply for your freezer before the snow would fly. The less you had to rely on trips to Crescendol, the better. 

“What the hell are you doing out here?” you nagged when you discovered him, once again lounging, a book on his chest and his head resting against a large tree.

“You’re sharp,” he murmured, not opening his eyes, pretending to not be surprised by your presence. “I believe you to be fully capable of deducing my intentions at present.”

“Why aren’t you working?” you grated out.

“‘All work and no play’, come on, warden. You know how the saying goes; I rifled through those books of yours.”

Ezra had been to your porch.

“Which book did you take?” you asked quickly.

“I took none,” he replied. “I’ve read them all.”

Irritability shot through you, like it had been injected into your bloodstream.

“I’ll leave another crate out, then,” you shot back, almost spitefully. “I just figured those would be more your pace. Quick reads.”

You were lying; they were what you considered to be your most impressive choices. 

“Not many consider Tolstoy to be a quick read,” he said, and finally he pried a single eye open, smirking. “But thank you for being so considerate.”

You dramatically stepped over his outstretched legs, snarling to yourself when you almost tripped over a root as you left.

“Don’t work too hard, warden!” he called out after you.

The second time, it had been during a hike. 

You had made it to the summit, and you shrieked with terror when he’d snuck up on you. 

“What the fuck,” you hissed, holding your hand to your pounding chest when you discovered the source of the noise in your usually-silent and abandoned mountain top. 

“For Kevva’s sake, warden,” Ezra ribbed, barely trying to conceal a grin. “I had no intentions of furtively agitating you. Just wanted to stretch my old bones.”

His brow was caked with sweat, and the blonde patch stuck straight up in a temporary cowlick. A damp, faded white tee shirt clung to his chest, and your breath caught in your throat as you looked away.

“Yeah, whatever,” you croaked, and pushing yourself up from the mossy patch of lichen you sat within, you shouldered past him, careful not to look at him again.

The third time had been at the pool again.

The rainy season was on the heels of summer, and, just like it did every year, occasional sunshine would peek through the plume of foggy clouds, hotter and more harsh than ever. It was early, and you were determined to get as much work done as possible, but you knew you’d be useless without feeling refreshed first.

Recklessly, you undressed completely, jumping into the deepest part and abandoning your clothes in a neat pile on your favorite rock. 

You basked in the sun for a moment after your swim, letting the rays dry the beads of water that lined your bare skin, when Ezra cursed from the shoreline above.

“Damn it!” he swore, and when you opened your eyes in alarm, scraping your back on the rock as you sank into the water, he had his back turned, raking his hand through his hair.

“Are you decent yet?” he shouted, opting for your true name and leaving behind his irritating moniker. 

“Yes,” you called back weakly, trying to remind yourself to be mad at him.

You knew Ezra was still on planet, that it was an unbelievably hot morning, and that he frequented this pool, and yet you still allowed yourself to be caught. You momentarily hated yourself for your immaturity.

“You know that I come here,” you growled, your voice bleeding poison. 

You were gaslighting him, and you hated yourself even more.

“And you know that I do, as well,” he stated hotly, and you could see his arms crossed as he stood with his back facing you. “Perhaps we ought to arrange a rotating schedule -”

“Maybe you should just get the fuck off Shiro,” you suggested mockingly, swimming over to your towel and drying off. 

When you made it to the shoreline, you hadn’t bothered to dress; you held your clothes, bunched in one hand, and crossed the towel firmly around yourself.

“I am very sorry for coming up on you like that,” Ezra murmured. “I had no baleful design in mind.”

Guilt echoed through your insides; you had willingly set Ezra up for failure, and shame rippled over you.

“I know, it’s fine,” you muttered back. “It’s all yours.”

Ezra had no witty quip as you tiptoed through the woods.

Four days passed, and you wondered if Ezra was still on Shiro. You hadn’t dared to go near his camp, or returned to the same pool, despite its prestige; you instead visited the shallower one that was further away in the other direction. You caught yourself listening to the world outside at night, waiting for the sound of his pod departing, but had only been met with the cacophony of insects instead. 

On the fourth night, you dreamt of him; his busy mouth on your skin, your bodies within the dark pool of cold water that felt tepid in the dream realm, but nothing compared to the heat of his hands palming you, dragging a release from your core that had remained untouched for too long.

You woke angry with yourself, pushing the dream aside and blaming loneliness on the intrusion, but allowed your hand to slip past the waistline of your shorts, pressing against your most sensitive parts to chase the relief Ezra had brought you in your mind.

On the ninth morning since visiting Ezra’s pod, you sat in the wicker chair on your porch, watching the pregnant, grey sky. It had been threatening to rain since the day Ezra arrived, and there hadn’t been a drop since, only severe humidity and the occasional distant rumble of thunder.

A volatile concoction of relief and annoyance swelled inside of you when Ezra cautiously, hands in the air, waded through the waist-high ferns in the forest adjacent to your home, eyebrows skirting the creases in his forehead.

“Morning, warden,” he called, hanging around the tree line, waiting for an invitation to cross the threshold into your space.

Your heart pounded in your chest; he was somehow more handsome than you’d remembered. He was wearing a suit, green and stained with grease and more oil paint, and his glasses reflected light from the filtered sun. In one arm was a small toolbox.

“Don’t call me that,” you warned, eyeing his luggage. “What’s in the box?”

“A bargain’s a bargain,” he appealed, raising the box as its insides clattered against the thin metal. “I vowed to assist with the repair of an exhaust fan if I remember unerringly, did I not? And I have yet to fetch my own new book to read.”

You were a third of the way into The Jungle; you’d be at least halfway, if not more, if you hadn’t spent so much time rereading Ezra’s notes, comparing his thoughts with your own, studying his small, scratchy handwriting, imagining his fingers holding a pen. 

His notes had proved Ezra to be intelligent. Considerate, thoughtful towards both the tale’s take on industrialized production and human need. There were points so clearly made, so unarguably on-point, that they startled you. You had longed to discuss them with him, and the conversations you had begin to orchestrate in your mind made you miss the man you didn’t even know.

“You gonna stick around long enough to read an entire book?”

Ezra sighed, his shoulders deflating. “I depart the day after tomorrow,” he declared, and your insides twisted with something that felt like panic. “Though, I am a swift and efficient reader.”

“I don’t doubt that,” you muttered.

Act normal, you commanded yourself. You want him to leave. Just because he’s the first person you’ve seen in months, doesn’t mean you want him to stick around.

“I’m sorry for the incident at the pool,” he said. “I truly had no idea -”

“It’s okay,” you interrupted, shame returning to sink into your belly. “And thanks for the help.”

“I hope I am not disturbing well-earned idle time,” he said warily.

“No, I was just going to make some breakfast.”

“Well, perhaps I can come back later -”

“No,” you cut in, and you stood, beginning to walk slowly towards the door, “come eat.”

Ezra nodded slowly, making his way towards the porch and setting his box down gently on the stoop.

“Never have been able to repudiate nourishment,” he said regrettably. 

Ezra proved to be a people person.

You felt vulnerable with him in your space, like he could pick you apart based on how you placed your drinking glasses on the shelves, or the artwork you had pinned to the refrigerator. You cooked with your back turned, and he sat in a chair at the kitchen table with an unwavering confidence, like he had been there many times before, but without the presumption of an egotistical, entitled guest. 

“And how are you enjoying Sinclair?” he asked as you set the plate of vegetables, eggs, and toast down in front of him. 

He held his hand to his heart, tossing his head back as he let out an appreciative grunt. 

“You would be shocked to know how long it’s been since I indulged in the privilege of hot food,” he gushed. “I’d give your ship an entire reboot, if I had the time, in order to express gratitude.”

“You’re welcome,” you replied, secretly very pleased when he took a bite, shaking his head with pleasure. “So, you’re really leaving the day after tomorrow?”

“As soon as I’ve finished cleaning up,” he stated. “Almost done. I think you’ll approve.”

“Of course,” you said weakly, tucking into your own plate beside him. “And I really like the book, but I’m not finished. It’s right on the desk beside the door; you can take it with you -”

“I want you to keep it,” he said, ceasing his movements and looking at you in the eye. “It is yours. It is a crime to separate a reader from a book before they can finish it.”

His eyes on you, so fixed and serious, made blood rush to your head; you felt glazed as your lips parted.

“Okay,” you said softly. “Thanks.”

Shortly after breakfast, Ezra insisted on clearing the table, and asked to be shown to your ship.

He worked diligently, and only asked that you keep him company in return.

“Perhaps it’s a patent trait, but I prefer company if I can get it,” he confessed, one side of his mouth curling into a half-smile that sucker-punched you. “I know you prefer your solitude.”

You watched as he held his arms above his head, their definition apparent as they flexed to support their own weight. It was undeniably evident to you that did not want solitude in exchange for time with Ezra.

After a couple of hours, occasionally using your more-narrow arms to reach down through the mouth of the motor to reach for something Ezra couldn’t, or helping identify parts, you brought out some lunch. It was a seamless operation, the two of you working fluidly together, the focus of the work making you more lighthearted; you laughed at Ezra’s friendly jabs, and divulged a bit about the previous living situation as friends began to leave Shiro.

“You’ve maintained this ship well,” Ezra noted, eyeing other pieces with approval. 

“It definitely helps to learn, just by slowly replacing things one by one as needed. Less overwhelming that way.”

You stood, entranced by Ezra’s work, accepting that you did not want the conversation, or the day, to end.

“I like your notes in The Jungle,” you finally said. Your heart was beating very fast for what should be a light conversation. “It’s a dismal story, though.”

“It’s hardly fiction,” he mumbled from within the engine, his voice ricocheting off the walls. “Capitalism created a hell on earth, too consuming and beastly to escape.”

“What hasn’t been created by humans that isn’t total hell?” you sniffed, rolling the frayed cuffs of your shorts between your finger and thumb. 

“A plethora of things, as I am certain you are aware,” Ezra reminded you. 

He began to pack up his things, the tools he’d been using over the past couple of hours rattling into his toolbox as he put them away. 

“Fire it up,” he suggested, closing the engine hood with a thud.

Your keys jangled on the ring attached to your belt loop and you unhooked them, twirling them in your fingers as you mounted the driver seat. The fan had been sputtering loudly, and you exclaimed excitedly when the engine started gently, no backfire or rattling to be heard.

Ezra beamed at you when you hopped from your seat, letting the engine idle as the two of you basked in the result. 

“Still got it,” he said, flashing ten digits in front of himself. “I am chuffed to say I have done a single useful thing on Shiro, and for the empress herself.”

Your cheeks reddened again, and you rolled your eyes, unable to conceal an embarrassed smile. 

“Thank you,” you told him, pushing through the stubborn hold on your heart so that sincerity could bleed out into your simple words of gratitude. “This would have been a tough winter if I couldn’t restock.”

“And how was last winter?” Ezra asked lightly, pulling a bandana from the back pocket of his suit and wiping excess grease from his hands. 

Ezra’s aptitude for seemingly being able to x-ray your entire being was somehow unsettling and an immense comfort all at once. 

“Another learning experience,” you finally replied, recalling the endless months inside, with little sunlight for the solar panel and a cold bed. “I’ll be better prepared this year.”

“I would emphatically imagine so.”

Dusk began to fall, poised like an ax in the sky prepared to swing and cover the viridescent forest.

The two of you polished off tall glasses of sun tea as you were encapsulated in the growing darkness, and the panic set in once again: Ezra was preparing to leave, just as you were beginning to forgive him for his profession and revel in his company.

“Want to stay for dinner? It’s the least I can do, since you spent an entire day helping me with the ship,” you added quickly, pursing your lips into an awkward smile. 

“What I would not service or mend in exchange for a final meal with you, warden,” he mused playfully.

Final. Was he truly leaving? Did you truly care if he did? Were you really so desperate for interaction, so fascinated by this harvester that your stomach would knot at the thought of never seeing him again like this? 

Do not forget why he came here, a crude voice rang out in your mind. And don’t forget why the others left, another chimed in.

You were certain Ezra had a trove of harvester stories, but he seemed to have a cache of others, and he surely avoided professional tales with hopes to keep you placid. Instead, he told tales from his travels as you cooked and while you ate. After you’d both cleaned your plates, you suggested the living room, pulling out another crate of books by means of keeping him just a little longer, despite the thick darkness of the night outside.

“It’s really green?”

Ezra was elaborating on a trip to Earth, where he was able to see the Northern Lights as they were once called; a phenomenon that used to marvel humans long before space travel. You’d recently read a poem about them.

“Blue, green, and every shade within their own spectrums,” he declared. “Earth is healing as well, as I am certain you would be gratified to hear.”

“As is that because there are no people living there anymore?” you asked, cocking your head to one side.

“Of course there are,” he said matter-of-factly. “Just like there are on Shiro.”

You grimaced. “Look, I know not all people are bad,” you began, “I’m just sick of the lack of, I don’t know, courtesy? The sense of entitlement people have,” you said, shaking your head. “I don’t think I need to tell you how many planets we’ve desecrated -”

“I am, unfortunately, all-too-familiar with the pillaging, and the overall allotment humankind has taken with what they considered a discovery, when the galaxy was, in fact, keeping the wolf from the door just fine without intervention,” he said calmly. 

“So why do you harvest?” you whined softly, positioning yourself on the couch so that you were facing him. “You’re clearly smart, you could probably do whatever you wanted -”

“May I be so brazen as to pay you a plaudit in return? You also seem to be a clever one; there is no contesting that. So, I urge you to reconsider that question before anticipating an answer you cannot deduce for yourself.”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s a lazy answer for someone who talks as much as you do.”

“You are well aware that opportunities do not materialize so assuredly for us all, warden,” he droned out, a look of kind impatience, like he was explaining something to a child pressing buttons for the sake of learning boundaries, etching over his worn expression. “We can guide and steer only our choices and reactions -”

“And harvesting is a choice -”

“You cannot be so quick to pass judgment on the individual,” Ezra interrupted, his voice louder than it had been a moment before. “Your sentiment, while I sympathize with it, is treading on despotism -”

“Oh, give me a break -”

“Are you truly so privileged as to villainize the choices of those with so few alternatives when there are more sinister, colossal, and prevalent forces at large here?”

“That’s why I came here,” you shot back, “to start something new, a collective -”

“And you catch more flies with honey, sweetheart,” he snapped, his nose crinkling slightly in frustration. “A collective does not need a dictator -”

“I am not a dictator!” you cried, leaping to your feet.

“Then why did five other people leave?” Ezra asked, joining you in a standing position.

“Because this is a lot of work!” you shouted, “and people are lazy -”

“People are people,” Ezra concluded, “and you cannot control them; you must consider the needs and abilities of others. Look, I completely appreciate and salute the desire to nullify and abolish that sterile, monotonous suburbia of the mind, to erect and structure something better, a superior existence for yourself -”

“I want that for everyone, and that includes nature -”

“I never alluded to the contrary, warden,” he said quietly. “And it is a noble cause to embark upon. And yet, as I stated before: we cannot control the actions or reactions of anyone but ourselves.”

Ezra was right, and you hated it. He came two weeks ago and here he stood, in your living room, deconstructing the wall you’ve hid behind for years, proving Rosamund and Jax and all the other’s right. 

“Thank you for your help today,” you scowled, speaking slowly as to control the shaking of your voice. “But I’m not going to let you -“

“We made an admirable and sterling team today,” he observed, “we do our comradery a disservice with petty dissensions. My aim was not to offend, but I feel as if both my livelihood and morals are on trial, here. When you are the one who has been abandoned by your companions -”

“You’re alone, too! ”

“Therefore, we have more in common that you give us credit for! Your extremism for the environment dismisses the matters at hand for the individual and their role in it.“

“Just shut up!” you boomed. “You never fucking stop! You live to provoke -”

“No need to be crude, warden,” Ezra urged you calmly, “just ask me to leave, and I will respectfully do so.”

Blood drained from your face and you were silent. The further your face fell - the longer you were unable to speak - the wider Ezra’s grin became. Ezra has you figured out in every way, wrapped around his finger, and his smile was somehow still tender. Your face was screwed up in frustration, it was obvious, because he began to laugh.

It was a sound, you had heard before. In earlier days, it was more of a scoff. Today, while it echoed from the encasement of your engine, it had left his mouth like a hoarse whisper, crescendoing into a warmth that cloaked the coldness of your shell, the sound wisping through the empty halls of your heart. It came from his belly and it made heat pool in yours. 

The need for him that was growing into a roaring and demanding beast inside of you left you infuriated; you wanted to live inside of his head and feel his strong hands, his blood beating within them, on your skin. You never wanted him to leave and you hated him for it; this was not supposed to happen. 

“Stop laughing,” you demanded.

“You are on fire,” he uttered. 

“I hate you,” you said weakly.

“As an artful liar, I know bullshit when I hear it,” he assured, his eyebrow arched. “Let us call a spade a spade, shall we, warden? You do not hate me, you only wish you did; you like to be in control and it is a bane and a burden you insist on carrying out of plain martyrdom.”

“Stop,” you whispered.

“Then I take my leave -”

“Wait,” you said abruptly. 

Ezra laughed again, shaking his head lightly. You had backed him into the hallway, and you stood with the wall behind you. Slowly, he walked in your direction, bridging the gap between your bodies.

“You think you have it all figured out,” you hissed, tears collecting in your eyes from rage, from confusion, from the uncontrollable need to be near this insufferable man, from the six months of enduring this project alone. 

Ezra was standing so close to you, you could smell the oil from the engine, the sweat and earth. He still looked pleased, certain of something, as he stretched his arms towards you, his hands cupped and reaching for your face.

“You can’t just show up here and fuck this place up,” you mouthed, barely audible as he continued to laugh, leaning against your lips like his own were gossamer. Your body was electrified as his lips brushed against yours. “You can’t just walk into my life -”

He broke from your mouth and rested his lips against your ear, his words gathering with the warmth of his breath in its crooks.

“Then tell me to leave again. Say it, and I will leave Shiro tonight.”

Nuzzling against your cheek, he moved his lips back towards yours. It wasn’t a kiss quite yet; he paused, and time was still.

“No,” you whispered.

He pressed his lips against yours with a loud sigh, a breath so relieved of tension that he seemed to fold into you, caging you with his body as you clawed at his head, threading your fingers through his hair as you guided his mouth into yours deeper. 

His tongue was messy as it swept into your mouth, urging yours to join his as he pressed you against the wall, hoisting you up by the waist and propping you so you straddled his knee. 

A pressure that had been building inside of you seemed to blow, and a new one was mounting inside of your belly.

“Kevva waits, sweetheart,” he murmured into your mouth, his lips never leaving yours. “Tell me to leave while you still can.”

“Stop talking,” you mouthed, whimpering as he nipped at your bottom lip, your jawline, the soft flesh of your neck. 

“Petulant.”

Ezra sucked the tender spot behind your ear, on your throat, surely leaving behind marks. You ground down on his thigh as his hands dug into your waist, guiding your hips and rocking you as your small, soft shorts rode into the apex of your thighs, the fabric of his suit digging into your skin. The grip you held on his hair was tightening, and he hissed when you pulled his head back to expose the nape of his neck.

“You are on fire, aren’t you?”

You lapped at the column of his throat, tasting the sweat and feeling the coarseness of the stubble that lined it. He groaned in pleasure, fingers sinking into your ribcage as you leaned forward, circling your hips as the pressure against your clit from his thigh edged you closer to the promise of a climax. 

Your thumb brushed up against a small, hooked scar beneath one of his eyes as you reveled in his kiss again, sucking on his bottom lip before dragging it between your teeth. 

“And what would the warden do if my hands were to move just so?” he pondered aloud, his grip traveling towards your breasts apprehensively. 

You laid your hands on top of his and dragged them to your chest and he responded dutifully, palming you with a firmness and assertion you had only been able to dream of. You hummed against his lips as he rolled your nipples between his fingers and thumbs, collecting you in his hands as his tongue sank deeper into your mouth. 

“My bed,” you ordered, feeling frustration build as Ezra continuously lifted you from his thigh just as you felt pressure begin to peak, your shorts soaked through and riding between your pussy lips as you bucked against him. 

“Imperious. You ought to be subjugated before it’s too late.”

“Try it,” you dared him, and for the first time since he kissed you, you locked eyes. 

“Listen to me. I am not a sinless man, but I pledge to you: no one is coming for your moon, empress.”

His eyes penetrated you, and you ceased the movements of your hips as your arms remained draped over his neck. He pressed another kiss against your lips, moaning when you parted them with your tongue. 

Strong hands journeyed down your back as Ezra lifted you; you straddled his waist with your legs, wrapping them around him as he held you up, not breaking the kiss as he backed into walls, against the banister, and leaned you down onto the stairs. 

You’d let him take you there, against the unswept hardwood step digging into your back. When he tugged on the hem of your tank top, you helped him peel it off of you, tossing it somewhere down below as his mouth lowered to the slopes of your chest. 

You clenched your thighs together with him between them as the need for more burned when his tongue dragged against your nipple, his hand making sure the other was not neglected. 

“I have to touch you,” you whined, tugging on the zipper of his suit below his collarbone. 

“Officious,” he snarled, pulling the zipper down to his pelvis, revealing the band of dark blue boxers and a strip of dark hair beneath the hem of his shirt. 

“You like it.”

He leered at you, and you pushed yourself up from the step, turning up the stairs as he followed you. 

When you reached the threshold of your room, you spun on the spot, immediately grasping the fabric bunched around Ezra’s hips, dragging them to his ankles. Rising again, you pressed yourself against his chest as he stepped out of the suit, kicking it away and hooking a finger into the band of your shorts. 

“What a privilege, to see the throne room,” he teased softly, and Ezra lowered himself, sinking to his knees in front of you. 

You raked your fingers through his hair and yanked gently as he kissed your abdomen, your hip bones, all the while slowly peeling the shorts off and down your legs. You placed your hands on either shoulder as he helped you pull them from your feet. 

Wordlessly you inched back and fell onto the mattress behind you, and Ezra crawled between your legs, grabbing one of your thighs and sinking his teeth into it. 

You cried out, the combination of pain and pleasure coursing in your veins as anticipation shot through you, his lips edging closer to your core. 

“Go on, empress of Shiro,” he murmured, his mouth twisting into a grin. “What’s my next order?”

Your chest heaved, and a sudden shyness washed over you as you laid with Ezra between your legs, no fabric or barrier to speak of as he hovered over you, his mouth inches away from where your body screamed for him to be. 

“I want - ” you began, and you pressed your lips together, knees trembling as Ezra’s smile deepened. You shook your head, shrugging. “You know.”

He nodded, a look of mock-understanding spreading across his face as he pursed his lips. 

“You want,” he said, “perhaps, to relinquish some of this iron-handed power over to me, for as long as it takes, am I correct?”

You nodded furiously, your thighs beginning to shake violently as the urge to feel his mouth on you ached. 

Ezra planted an open-mouth kiss down your thigh, so close that his chin brushed against your wet center. 

“You smell divine, truly royal, I’ll give you that,” he said, “and I am confident you taste even better. But I need absolute assurance that I am not overstepping boundaries as nothing more than an intruder on your moon -“

“Please,” you begged softly, bucking your hips uncontrollably as Ezra chuckled against you. “Please, Ezra. You know -“

“I do know,” he consoled, “I truly do, sweetheart. You need to give me a proper order, princess.”

You winced at his words, whimpering as your pussy throbbed for him to touch you more. 

“Please,” you sobbed, “put your mouth on me -“

“Like this?” he asked, his mouth inches from your core as he lapped at your leg. “Or perhaps a bit closer -“

You gripped his head and dragged it to your core and he complied; his warm tongue dragged up your slit until it engulfed your clit, and you cried out in relief as he deftly swirled again against you. 

Your eyes shut tightly against your will as he gripped your thighs, spreading them apart gently as his mouth worked, preparing to drag your climax from your belly. 

He’d primed you too well; you were fit to burst as two of his fingers gathered your arousal before plunging into your heat, edging into your folds inch by inch. He gripped your waist with his free hand, his moan reverberating against your pussy when you tightened around his fingers. 

“Just like that,” you whined, the swirl of his tongue and the small movements of his fingers driving you towards your peak. 

You were unable to suppress a cry as you came, your body tensing and caving in on itself as you unfurled for him. Jumping away from his mouth, he slowly crawled up your frame, his face wet with you. 

“Your elitism would be warranted in one department, I will grant you that truth,” he murmured, lowering himself as his hands splayed out on either side of your head. “You taste like honey.”

You grabbed his face and pulled him into a kiss, heat recoiling in your core as his length rested against your abdomen as he leaned into your mouth. You tasted your orgasm on his lips, heady and potent. 

His body was tense, like he was taking great care to contain himself. 

“Just had to get stung a few times to get to it, didn’t I?”

“Don’t hold back,” you breathed, and he snarled when you reached between your bodies to take him in your hand. 

He was thick and hard, and you lifted your legs higher to run the tip of his cock along your soaked slit. 

“Damn it,” he hissed, groaning as you granted him permission. 

He pushed himself up by his palms, gripping your waist tightly with one hand and taking himself in the other, aligning himself with your entrance. 

“Don’t hold back, huh? Are you granting me permission to properly fuck you?”

He pushed the tip of his cock through your folds, and your head flung back, a whimper of pleasure clawing its way from your throat as he slowly began to stretch you. 

“Permission to establish a new reign?”

“Yes,” you nodded, “please.”

Ezra filled you to the hilt and your breath left you. 

He moved his cock in and out of you slowly, tortuously slow as you clawed at his back, your fingers digging into his flesh. 

“How would it make you feel, princess, if I told you I’ve been fantasizing - unapologetically - about fucking you since the moment I saw you wield that god damn machete?”

You dug your heels into his back, urging him to go harder. Your pussy was swollen from your still-throbbing orgasm from before, and the stimulation was driving you mad. He pushed buttons in every way. 

“That I wanted you, wet and insolent, right on the bank of that pool?”

He eased inside of you until he was as deep as he could go before slowly pulling out again, and you wriggled your hips in frustration. 

“Patience, remember?” he murmured gruffly. “I want you to know I envisioned fucking you into the dirt, right in that dig pit. Like the mouthy, flippant little girl you are.”

You sucked in a breath and moaned as Ezra grabbed a fistful of your hair, forcing you to open your eyes and look at him. 

“But you would have killed me, wouldn’t you have? That’s why I like you.”

He tugged harder, the sting of your scalp rippling through your entire body. 

Lifting you up, Ezra sat on his knees and dragged you into his lap, holding you around the waist as he lifted you up before sinking you back down onto his cock again. 

You held him like that, kissing him hurriedly as you regained some control, filling yourself with him to your body’s content. 

Ezra slapped your ass, the sting radiating heat. 

“Up,” he commanded, and he swung you around on all fours. 

Gathering another fistful of hair, he used his other hand to glide into you again from behind, holding onto your hair and hip for leverage. 

He tugged harder, pulling your head back towards him as he drove into you. 

“I think you imagined it, too, didn’t you?” he growled, his grip painful as he gathered as much flesh around your hips as he could. 

You arched your back for him, craning your neck to try and meet his eye. “Harder,” you swore, narrowing your eyes before they fluttered shut again. 

“Audacious,” he said, and he reached around to pull you upright, so that your back was flush against his chest. 

One hand squeezed you around the middle while the other gripped your chin. Ezra pride open your mouth, shoving two fingers between your lips as you unhinged your jaw, letting him fuck your mouth with his hand. 

“Suck,” he commanded. 

You came almost instantly, and you whimpered as he held your limp form against him. You sucked on his fingers as he pulled a second orgasm from you. 

When he felt you still, he gently relented his grip before turning you on your back once more, gently lowering you to the surface of the bed. 

He was tender as he pulled your legs apart, sinking into you, kissing you, moaning softly into your mouth as he began to shudder in your arms. 

“Where?”

You didn’t speak, instead, you held him tighter, reaching to press his lower back deeper into you as your lips remained locked with his. 

He swore as he came, burrowing his nose into your neck. 

When he tried to roll away, your grip on him tightened, and you felt his body sink further into yours. 

“Stay,” you said. “Before you have to leave for good.”

Ezra craned his neck to meet your gaze, scanning your face. 

“All you need is ask, sweetheart.”

~ 

Ezra did stay; you broke your own rules, sleeping in long after the sun rose, not leaving your bed until late in the afternoon. You cooked, you sat in his lap, you didn’t discuss harvesting or The Jungle or him leaving. 

His next endeavor did come up. 

“You would not approve, although you’d be pleased to know this next moon is not welcoming,” he said, kissing you between words as you straddled him at the kitchen table. “The Green isn’t friendly.”

“Well, maybe I’ll see you around, as long as you don’t bring a crew with you,” you teased, kicking the gnawing feeling of grief away as you tried not to think about him leaving. 

He left at sundown, and you stood on the porch with a ball of fire in your throat, threatening to claw its way out. 

“This isn’t goodbye,” he insisted, leaving you with one last kiss. 

You waited until he was long out of sight before you sunk to your knees, tears pent up far too long finally making their way from your belly.

The sky tumbled through the night, where you tried but failed to sleep in your empty bed. When the world outside turned a husky blue, you dragged yourself from bed and trudged through the woods until you reached Ezra’s abandoned camp.

The cavity in the earth from Ezra’s harvest was filled almost entirely, all of the soil repacked, his footprints still fresh around the edges. Walking closer, you dropped to rock back on your ankles, discovering a thin layer of seed over the overturned earth. 

He had fulfilled his promise, leaving no trace and replacing the vegetation he removed. 

When you rose back to your feet, you felt a plop drop onto your nose. Looking up, you felt several more until the sky broke and fell loudly all around you. You took your time walking back home in the inevitable rain. 

The yellowing radio that sat on the porch, beneath the chipping layer of cheap paint you’d bought on Crescendol, had not received transmission signal in almost a year. Ezra left Shiro three months ago, and still, your radio only crackled out ear-splitting static when you tuned it each morning when you tried to hear something. Anything. 

Rain season began in Ezra’s wake, and slowly the humidity ebbed and cooler winds blew through the Salix trees. You exchanged your shorts for pants, rummaging through your trunk for warmer layers. The generous daylight hours on your little moon began to wane, and you ate dinner alone earlier, finding yourself between your sheets sooner. Some nights, you shut your eyes, trying to conjure the feeling of his warmth crowding your figure, your hands between your thighs, pretending they were his tongue. Sometimes you invented arguments with Ezra in your mind; you always let him win. You substituted your subconscious, chastising you for each event that led you here, alone, and replaced your inner voice with his. His drawl, his voice, his words were always more of a comfort, easier to digest than your own. You sorted out your thoughts and mistakes using the image of Ezra as the deliverer, and the invisible bond you sealed with him that way was fair enough punishment; you missed him like part of your body was gone, a cavity not unlike the one he had dug in the ground but left unfilled and exposed. The winds of autumn, the shifting season blew over the empty space inside yourself and each day felt like it had eroded a little more. 

“I should get a dog,” you muttered to yourself one evening. “Wonder if that weird dude with the box of puppies will be on Crescendol next week.”

A wool sweater buried your neck, and you tucked your chin into it as you sorted through your saved seeds, now dried and ready to be stored. It was probably too cold to be working on the porch, but you liked this time of year. 

If you were to go by the Gregorian calendar, you imagined it would be late October. The days on Shiro were likely too long to follow such an outdated source of time, but you had books of seasons, old Farmer’s Almanacs that described the feeling in the atmosphere well. Every day was the same, the generated oxygen comfortable and safe on the Wyman, each simulated sunrise and sunset like the one before. On Shiro, the changes were welcome, no matter how harsh. The forest had turned, and patchy frost appeared everywhere when you woke. The wood stove would be awoken, and soon the snow would come. 

Shiro was so much like earth in so many ways, but no one would come and stay because of the extremes of the two longest periods; the summer was terribly muggy, lovely for most plants but almost unbearable for humans, and the winter was brutal. Snow would fly in a few weeks time, maybe another month at the most, where it would remain for six. When there were so many other options, not many would choose to endure it. Especially when it was still rumored to be nothing more than a barren wasteland. 

You often wondered what Ezra would think of winter. If he would become stir crazy inside, get lazy about loading the stove with split wood. Would he be disciplined enough to ration food? Could he pull the trigger and hunt, slashing beasts by the belly up and preserve the meat? Would he chip off the ice that collected on the solar panels, with the reward of a warm bed and a pile of books waiting in the bungalow you helped build with your hands? Or would he grow tired of the downtime, firing up his ship to find uncovered ground?

You normally would have gone to the trading post on Crescendol weeks ago, and you’d been avoiding the three-day journey in case Ezra decided to show up again. When the frost finally killed the last of the brassicas, the cold-hardy waxed leaves finally giving up the ghost and curling to yellow, you knew it was time. 

You tried to leave things looking lived in so that if Ezra did come, he’d know you weren’t gone for good. You stopped at a notepad and a pen beside the front door, chewing on your lip as you considered leaving a note. 

“Wishful thinking,” you sighed out loud, to no one in particular. 

You kept waffle weave layers beneath your jumpsuit as you geared up for your journey. You loaded the ship with the stockpiles of meat you’d frozen all summer, prepared for trade. Fresh vegetables weren’t popular, but you’d sell what you had. No one would want the seeds, and they remained in jars that lined the kitchen walls. 

When you fired up your ship, the easy hum reminded you of Ezra’s help, and you pictured the way he had beamed at you when the engine idled evenly. 

“Still got it,” his voice rang out in your mind. 

Normally you switched on music immediately, but you kept your communications transmitter on. Who knew who’d be in your orbit?

A day to get there, a day on Crescendol, and a day back to Shiro. A short trip, in the grand scheme of things for a ship as small as yours. Crescendol was bleak; dingy and so polluted from the factories that produced ship parts and the many hangars, there was almost a constant plume of haze that hung on the grungy moon.

You got more than you expected for the food, and stocked up on staples you couldn’t grow yourself; fifty pound bags of flour, oats, rice. Grains and canned goods. You noticed yourself spending enough for almost two, not just one. 

Just in case of visitors. 

You pressed your lips together as the post clerk rang you up, a question bubbling in your throat. 

“That it, kid?” she asked, voice gruff with years of smoke. 

“Yeah, uh,” you took your change from her, and offered a sheepish smile. “You don’t know a guy named Ezra, would you? Blonde streak, talks like -“

The woman groaned. “Who doesn’t know Ezra,” she drolled out loudly. 

Your heart seemed to rev. “Has he been around recently?”

“No,” she said firmly, “and if he’s sly enough to weasel his way back in here, I have a half a mind to have him arrested.”

You were hanging on her words. “Why?” 

“He’s late,” she grumbled. “Outstanding tab. Tell your friend if you see him he owes me three hundred.”

“That’s it?” you asked, exceptionally aware of the small line forming behind you. “I got it; let me pay -“

“You can do whatever you want,” the woman replied, splaying her hands in front of her on the counter, revealing several gold rings on her fingers. “Ezra must have too many friends. He’s lucky.”

A strange, volatile fire sparked in your belly, rising towards your chest. “Friends?” you asked in a small voice, ignoring the shuffling of feet behind you. “Like me? Like, you know, uh -“

“Either pay his tab or move aside, hon,” the clerk said tersely. She began to speak once you dug through your pack, sifting through your funds until you gathered enough to pay Ezra’s dues, sliding it over the vinyl surface. “I mean, he always manages to get himself into trouble, and somehow finds a way out of it. Like so,” she added, waving your payment in her hand before shoving it unceremoniously into a drawer. 

“If there’s a will,” you shrugged, pursing your lips into an awkward smile. 

“Then there’s Ezra,” she finished dryly, waving over the person standing behind you. 

“Hey,” she called back as you headed towards the door, “what’s your name? If he asks who saved his ass?”

Your words caught in your throat before you could shout back a response. “Tell him the warden took care of it,” you said. 

She shook her head, sighing as she handed a customer a stack of foiled dehydrates. “You got it, warden.”

Your chest swelled with satisfaction at hearing your moniker again, even if it wasn’t from his mouth; it was like he had some claim over you, and it was beginning to ripple out into the universe. You held your chin out as you exited the post, the loader waiting outside with a dolly ready to help you bring your goods back to the hangar. 

You hardly ate or slept that night, too stimulated by the sounds and lights beyond your ship. You gazed out of the wind shield, where you could easily watch traffic come and go. 

Maybe that one is him, you’d think to yourself when something would fly past. If they were, you didn’t find out; sunlight crept into your ship eventually, the noises outside growing, so you fired up and headed back for Shiro. 

If you’d left for Crescendol around a proverbial October, it was nearly December the morning you woke up to the distinct and distant sound of a ship. 

The snow was late that year; there had been a few dustings, but late-season rain washed each of them away. The ground was bare except for leaf litter and a thick layer of frost that was unlikely to melt beneath the barrel-gray sky above. Shrio lacked evergreen trees, and you seemed to move in a disassociated, dreamlike state as you peered through the forest, barren of leaves as skeletal branches reached upright. 

An anxiousness sunk into you like a stone, and you wondered what to do. Several thoughts raced in your mind at once before you pulled on wooly socks, stepped into your overalls, and yanked a hat over your head as you reached for Rosamund’s thrower, untouched since the night you cleaned it up, the night Ezra arrived on Shiro last summer. 

Your body was buzzing as you walked down the steps, eyeing the stair that Ezra laid you down upon; removing clothing in the damp heat of a passion so disoriented it had been out at sea, and you had begged for him to put his mouth on you, grasping out for a shoreline you were now stranded on. You loaded the wood stove, fingers trembling as the iron door creaked open. You scanned the bungalow with sleep still buried in the crooks of your eyes, searching for a reason to stay as the sea that was Ezra silently swayed, pulling you out like the tide, like a loaded little moon demanded it. With nothing else to do but meet the visitor, you slipped into boots and opened the door. 

You held the thrower weakly, like it was a burden rather than a weapon or a tool. Leaves crunched beneath your weight, and you had to remind yourself to breathe as you walked in the same direction Ezra had been in last time. 

When sounds that mimicked your own finally grew, you lifted your eyes to greet Ezra, and you nearly whimpered when it was not him at all; a girl, unarmed but eyes narrowed and expectant, was walking towards you. She seemed to relax when your eyes met. 

She’s a kid, you thought. Maybe sixteen. Blonde hair that touched her shoulders swayed gently as she continued to walk, the rest of it matted to her head. 

“Hey,” you called out, your voice cracking slightly from lack of use. It was not a bark or a demand, but the best greeting you could muster. 

She knew your name, and you stopped walking when she spoke it like a question. 

“Yeah,” you choked out, “that’s me.”

She inhaled deeply, briefly closing her eyes. “Sorry if we woke you up.”

“We?” you whispered.

“Yeah,” she craned her head behind her, “I’m with Ezra. He said you were friends? I hope it’s okay -”

Your breath returned, and you began to wonder why a young girl was shepherding Ezra back to you. 

“It’s totally okay,” you replied. “Is he with you?” you peered over her shoulder. 

“Yeah, I dunno. I think he’s -“ the girl broke off, and her mouth twisted like ugly words wanted to spill out, but she thought better of it. “He’s coming.”

“Does he need help -“

“Don’t offer to help,” she stated plainly, her severe expression returning. She made an impatient face as her head swung over her shoulder again. “I’m sorry - we can meet you if you don’t want to wait.”

“I’ll wait,” you muttered. “What’s your name?”

“Cee,” she said. “Ezra said you have books.”

You nodded, a wry grin curling on your lips. Before she could return it, you jumped, like a useless, timid rabbit when the sounds of footsteps surrounded you once more and Ezra’s figure grew in the trees behind the girl. 

The thrower dangled limply at your side as Ezra’s crooked smile eyed it. “Warden,” he said, his voice gentle. 

Something in his voice was sad.

And that’s when you noticed it, as he walked up to stand beside Cee. That’s when you noticed Ezra’s right arm was gone. 

-

“You look far more aghast than I thought you would,” he crooned, and you knew he was grasping at straws, desperate to lighten the mood. “Where’s that smartass remark I banked on? I told Cee she had a contender.” 

The three of you walked through the woods, Ezra and Cee at your back. You reined in every burning desire to ask questions, to wrap yourself around Ezra, but thought better of it in front of the girl. Was she his daughter? Had she been on the Green?

“I’m just happy to see you,” you replied weakly. “Wasn’t sure if you were gonna visit again or not.” 

You tried to steer casualness into your voice, hoping Ezra couldn’t sense your desperation. 

“With full disclosure, and risking the chance of coming off as a defeatist, I admit there were times I was irresolute of that myself,” he replied, still an unwavering amusement in his tone, as if whatever happened on the Green was a stunt he had pulled as a joke. 

The rest of the walk back to the bungalow was silent, and when you turned to face your guests, their exhaustion was apparent as they slumped up the steps and into the warmth. 

“Make yourself comfortable, sit,” you told them gently, ushering them into the living room. “Do y’all want tea? Something to eat?”

“Yes, please,” Cee said firmly, her eyes wide. She quickly turned her head to Ezra, and you watched carefully as they had a wordless conversation, their eyes talking. 

An unfair swath of jealousy crept over you before you quickly squashed it; it was fine to want Ezra’s attention after missing him the way you did. He and this Cee, however, had been through something, and you were happy he wasn’t alone. 

“How about some clothes?” you asked, their suits filthy. “The outdoor shower is hot and has plenty of water; let me fire up the generator?”

“Can I do that first?” Cee asked. 

“Of course.”

You quickly ran up the steps, not letting your foot touch the one Ezra had kissed you on, and retrieved a towel from the closet before sorting through your shelves, guessing Cee’s size as you selected her clean options for herself to sort through. 

You met Ezra’s eyes as you descended, convinced he was thinking of the same thing as you approached Cee with the stack. 

“Take whatever you want,” you said, smiling. “If you wanna come with me, I’ll show you to the shower.”

“Thanks,” she said, her jaw flexing beneath her cheek. 

Cee stood and followed, that stoic look glossing over her as she watched you pull the start on the generator, the loud hum filling your ears. You told her how to work the nozzles before pulling the makeshift curtain closed behind you, giving her the privacy she likely needed. 

You turned on the kettle back in the kitchen before puttering as gently as you could back into the living room, Ezra offering you a rueful smile. 

A lump formed in your throat, and you swallowed it. “What happened?” you whispered, folding your arms over your chest as you leaned in the threshold. 

He huffed out a laugh, craning his head to look at the space where his arm once was. 

“Nothing more than an unfortunate circumstance -“

“What the fuck happened?” you shouted, confident Cee was unable to hear you by this point. 

“I got shot,” he fired back, frowning, clearly perturbed you were forcing seriousness into the conversation. 

“By who?”

He smiled, a shit-eating grin glazing over him. “She’s a half-pint, but has impressive aim, and she’s an even better surgeon. Steady hands.”

“What did you do to her?” you whispered sharply after a moment. “Who is she?”

Ezra’s face fell in disappointment. “There was an altercation with her father,” he said, his head ticking downwards, “he attempted to rob me -“

“Petty harvester bullshit -“

“Yes, well, I’ve paid my dues,” he stated loudly, and he turned, flashing his shoulder where an arm once was. “As it would appear, you have become aware that I have debts.”

“That’s not what I meant,” you murmured, knowing he had been to Crescendol. “You didn’t deserve that. And so what.” You planted a foot against the wall behind you, feigning relaxation. “You fixed my ship. Consider us even.”

“You had no obligation to do that,” he admonished. 

“Don’t be proud.”

“Were you surprised to discover my name is mud in the post?” he asked, leaning back against the sofa. 

“Kind of,” you admitted, shrugging as you pressed your lips together, looking at your feet. “You’re charming.”

You watched each other in pregnant silence; he felt like a stranger to you, whatever horrors occurred on the Green casting a layer of the unknown around him. 

“How’s the wound? The Green is toxic as fuck.”

“Oh, you would not believe just how so,” Ezra retorted. “And greedy. Had to leave an old friend behind in order to leave.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered quickly. 

“Pity is an unkind solace, warden,” Ezra said, almost simultaneously. “And I hardly expected it from you. A bromidic reaction was the last thing -”

“What do you want from me?” you answered back, slightly defensive as your heart ached. “Told you so? I don’t pity you.”

“Then what -“

“I love you,” you said, almost reluctantly as resentment stirred inside of you. “Or something like it.”

You wanted him to touch you, to show some sign that he had missed you the same way you had missed him. You immediately shook the toxic emotion from your mind; so much had happened, and perhaps you would need to be patient with Ezra, as he had been with you. 

His smile was almost fastidious, and he narrowed his eyes with amused suspicion when the back door shut. 

Cee appeared, very aware that she was walking into a discussion. 

“Hey,” you said, offering a smile. “Food?”

With a towel wrapped on her head, clothed in an old pair of your jeans that hung slightly off her hips and one of Rosamund’s shirts left behind, she nodded. 

You cooked, and Cee sorted through your bookshelves quietly while Ezra took his turn in the shower, waving off your suggestion for help. Instead, Cee jumped from her place on the floor and offered to lead him outside to instruct him on the workings of the outdoor plumbing. Bitter jealousy returned, and it made you feel ugly. 

You left them to eat in peace, filling mugs with hot tea and glasses with water. Inventing something to do, you insisted you had already eaten and needed to turn the compost before the frost set in, leaving your hasty confession to linger behind. 

When you returned, the two of them stood in front of your sink, washing dishes. You watched as they worked, an unspoken dynamic apparent between them; teammates accomplishing a simple task fluidly. 

You sat at the kitchen table, pouring tea for yourself. 

“You two didn’t have to do that,” you said apologetically. 

“Do not even attempt that sort of nonsense,” Ezra chided, handing Cee a dish to dry. “I’m a harvester, not an asshole.”

“They’re synonymous,” Cee muttered, the corners of her lips twitching. 

“What did I tell you?” Ezra said, visibly impressed with the girl’s remark. “If you don’t mind me divulging on a rather riveting detail, Cee, why don’t we inform the empress here of what you two hold in common?”

Cee revealed her age, displaying an inherently-teenage quality as she rolled her eyes, drying the last of the dishes. 

“Go on,” Ezra needled softly, ribbing her with his elbow. 

“I lived on the Wyman, too,” she said through an exhale. “I hated it.”

“No, way!” you exclaimed. “What sector? How long were you there?”

“Sector eleven,” she said in a bored voice, joining you at the table. “My dad moved us there when I was a baby, after my mom died on Kamrea.”

You nodded, pursing your lips in apology. 

“He invested in the whole project,” she went on, scratching her nail gently into a divet in the wooden table. “It was supposed to make him rich, back when everyone thought it was the best idea ever.

“He lost everything,” she said, her eyebrows raised as she continued to avoid eye contact. “Everything he and my mom had saved, and we couldn’t afford to leave, so he had to sell our slot to my uncle. We started working after that to pay him back. He sent me to flight academy, at least. Just so I could help him pilot.”

It was expected that Wyman ships would become the desirable way to live and raise families in a post-earth galaxy. When mental health plummeted and younger generations left, plans to create more ships were scrapped, the Wyman lost embassy and university funding, and it became nothing more than a forgotten beast drifting through the infinite. 

“Unlikely you’ll go back?” you asked, resting your chin in your hands. 

“No,” she swore. “I radioed some friends I had at the academy before we landed. I want to meet up with them at some point.”

Your eyes flashed towards Ezra’s, but he watched Cee impassively. 

“Anything I can do to help,” you told her. “Just let me know.”

“I kind of just want to sleep,” she admitted. “I think I might go back to the ship and nap.”

“You don’t have to leave, it’s so cold. There’s extra rooms here -“

“I don’t mind, I’ll use the generator,” she interrupted, glancing at Ezra over her shoulder, who nodded at her. “I just -“

“I totally get it,” you replied, remembering the innate need to be alone at that age. “Come back whenever you’d like.”

“Thanks.”

You and Ezra watched her take the coat you lent her and suit back up, heading out the door with a book from your collection. 

“She’s cool,” you murmured. 

“And likely more enervated than she’d ever admit,” he said. “She’s been put through the ringer.”

“I think you both have,” you responded. “Are you gonna be sad to see her go?”

He smiled wistfully, a mournful ghost hovering over him. He swirled his coffee mug. Watching him made you realize nothing had changed since his last day on Shiro; you ached to be touched by him. The tension brewing in the room was palpable. 

“Nothing gold can stay,” he murmured. “Though it will admittedly make plotting my next venture more elementary.”

“And what is your next move?” you breathed. 

You were nearly vibrating with want, waiting for him to say or do something that eluded to what happened between you before he left Shiro. 

His eyes locked with yours purposefully, the same careful look on his face from before. “I am empty, sweetheart; lacking motive and design,” he sighed. “I am now missing an imperative tool for harvest work.”

“Stop harvesting,” you whispered, reaching for his hand that was resting on your kitchen table. “Stay.”

“I imagine that must be an arduous request to make of me, recalling the time you spent behesting my departure.”

His fingers slowly entwined with yours, and you parted your lips with your tongue as you waited - breath bated and hardly there at all - for him to do more. 

“I was wrong. About a lot of things,” you said. 

In a swift movement, he grasped your wrist with his left hand and tugged it towards him, and you leaned over the table slightly. 

“You are aware, I am certain of it, that you have just uttered one of the most perspicacious phrases one can enunciate? I was wrong; simple, no-sweat words to speak but a laborious sentiment to concede with, especially when previous beliefs were so cemented and absolute. That was likely harder to say than your confession back there.

“And you were not wrong; you were different. Growth is a spiral, you know,” he murmured, and he traced wide, slow circles on the inside of your wrist. “Not a straight path.”

“You still talk too much,” you whispered, a small smile breaking over your lips. “And I meant what I said.”

He returned it, the pads of his fingers still working against your skin. “I have circled back to you. I was meant to find Cee on the Green, but perhaps not destined to be parted from you for long.”

The anxiousness in your chest began to loosen, slightly. “So, stay.”

He shook his head lightly, still maintaining a grin. “Help is going to look a lot different than it did last summer, warden,” he warned. “Things are going to be slow to start while I adjust; the poor kid is opening dehydrate packets for me still -“

“That’s what I was most wrong about,” you urged, “productivity doesn’t define someone’s value. That’s how I pushed everyone away. You have so much to offer; besides, you’ll learn.”

“Say it once more, sweetheart,” he whispered, his smile expressing a resolve. “Ask me to stay.”

“First, tell me: what do you want?” 

He beamed at you. “Right now, my only prerogative is taking you to bed, if I may be so forward and presumptuous.”

Your chair nearly knocked over as you rose from it quickly; Ezra flung his arm around your center as you straddled his lap, taking his cheeks in your palms. 

You kissed him deeply, whimpering into his mouth as you were finally able to touch him. 

“I meant to sleep, but I will not repudiate an indulgence like this,” he whispered after you broke from the kiss, his voice a tired husk of a sound. 

“Stay,” you breathed, your nose brushing against his. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, and you felt the smile behind his kiss. “And warden?”

“What?”

“I love you,” he whispered. “Or something like that.”

-

He followed you up to your room, and you both slowly undressed. You didn’t offer to help him unbutton his pants, but kissed him instead, letting his hand work between your bodies. You did reach below the hem of his shirt, slowly peeling it from his skin that smelled like soap. You dropped to your knees slowly, kissing his neck, his collarbones, his chest, trailing your lips lightly down his abdomen as he hummed out. He was tired, dead on his feet, and nearly swaying beneath your touch. 

You guided him to your bed, straddling him carefully as your naked figures fit in place together. You stroked his shoulders, tracing the nearly-healed wound. 

“There were moments on the Green, several of them, when I was committed to the notion of dying,” he murmured, his very brown eyes serious, commanding your gaze. “And each time, I thought of you.”

You leaned down and pressed a kiss to his lips, your tongue slowly parting them to tangle with his as his warm fingers splayed over your back. You ground down on his erection, his cock already hard and firm, and you took it between your legs, working it up the length of your slickness.

You pressed your palms into the pillow beside Ezra’s head, kissing him with an almost anguished longing as his hand caressed your side, grazing along the space between your underarm and hip. You pressed the length of his cock against your clit, moaning against his mouth, and he hissed when you circled the tip of his cock with your entrance. 

“Just like that, sweetheart,” Ezra breathed. 

You sank onto him, reveling in the stretch as he filled you. You circled your hips again, sinking up and down on him as his breath grew ragged. 

“Like this?” you whispered, sucking on his bottom lip. 

“Yes,” he rustled, digging his fingers into your flesh, unusually taciturn.

You cupped his face in your hands, easing him in and out of you as you spoke in hushed voices, relieved whispers of desperation and gratitude. 

“You feel so fucking good,” you wept, no longer able to stave off the climax you’d been keeping at bay. 

You whimpered loudly, burrowing your face into his neck to muffle your cries as you came. Ezra held you tightly, waiting for you to collapse before he pulled you down beside him, spooning you from behind. Still inside of you, he dragged you against his chest, palming your breasts as you craned your neck around to kiss him. You reached behind him, pulling him into you as you felt his body stammer, urging him to stay inside of you.

-

You slept until nightfall, and you finally emerged from bed to load the woodstove, to cook, which Ezra helped with, and waited for Cee to return for dinner. When she arrived, she had news.

“My friends will be here in a couple cycles,” she said, a new buoyancy to her being, likely from sleep and the promise of something familiar. “Is it okay if I come back after this job? I want to apply for school on Kamera, but I don’t know if I’ll have a place to stay yet.”

“Please,” you said, almost having to reel yourself back in. “You always have this place to come back to.”

“And an old floater to check in with,” Ezra added, a dutiful swell in his chest.

“Once my friends know how to get here, it would be easy to come visit,” Cee told him, swatting his arm. “Someone’s gotta open your soup packets for you.”

“More visitors,” Ezra said carefully, raising his eyebrows at you. “No trouble there, warden?”

You smiled. “None,” you replied, bringing your teacup to your lips. “Happy for the company.”


End file.
